


Moss on River Stones

by chaya



Series: Flora [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom!Geralt, Bottom!Jaskier, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Open Relationships, Top!Geralt, top!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: A continuation in the Flora series.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Flora [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637206
Comments: 275
Kudos: 2046





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier doesn't _actually_ want Geralt to be possessive, which is lucky.

Geralt's understanding of Jaskier has always been as someone who falls for people as easy as breathing. This is a vulnerable existence, no doubt, but Geralt couldn't imagine expecting to change Jaskier's core traits. (Or wanting to.)

"Hold still," Geralt growls, pretending, and pushes Jaskier against the wall. He feels Jaskier melt into the rough handling - as he always does, he bends so sweetly - and when Geralt hikes his chemise up, Jaskier's breath stutters.

"Geralt," Jaskier gasps, as if he were trying to soothe Geralt. He's not. It's part of the game.

"You let her _touch_ you." Jaskier didn't go to bed with anyone, not this time, but he has before, and the salty-sweet hints of her on his body, the scent of Jaskier's own arousal and come, have driven Geralt's blood hot every time. Jaskier just came back mussed this time, hair _played_ with, the smell of perfume along his cheek, his neck -

"It was just some fun." Jaskier looks down as Geralt's hand roams over his chest, searching out more evidence. When Geralt's gloved touch brushes over Jaskier's nipple, it peaks. "I didn't - we didn't-"

Geralt leans in, teeth and lips brushing against Jaskier's ear. "What will it take to keep your attention?"

This is, perhaps, Jaskier's favorite part of the game. Geralt will outline all the ways he will reclaim him, will make sure that Jaskier never has a mind to look at anyone else ever again. Jaskier will moan and squirm and let himself be manhandled, be 'convinced', and he will assure Geralt over and over that none of this is necessary.

"You never fail to shock me with how hungry you get." Geralt doesn't bother taking his gloves off, pinching and rolling the peaked nipple until Jaskier actually loses his footing. Geralt positions his knee between Jaskier's legs, pinning him, and uses his free hand to grip his hipbone. "Didn't you have my fingers in you just last night?"

Jaskier _whines_. "Y-yes."

He sounds like he might fall apart at any moment. Geralt can feel his erection pressing impatiently against his trousers. "And didn't I satisfy you?"

" _Yes_ , I came so h- hard, you saw, you were-" Jaskier's teeth drag over his lower lip, reddening it, and Geralt isn't sure if Jaskier does this as part of the game, if he _knows_ how the sight of this pushes Geralt further. "You were so, ah, so good, you're _always_ so good, darling, please, I promise-"

"Should I bend you over every night?" Geralt lets go of Jaskier only to hoist him up by his thighs, letting his cock press against Jaskier's hole through their clothes. Jaskier's eyes go huge in surprise, he's always still so _surprised_ by how easily Geralt can hold him, move him, "Is that what you need?"

Jaskier looks like he's honestly considering it. "I-" He chokes off a gasp as he's lowered down a little further, made to feel exactly how rigid Geralt's cock is. "Oh, fuck-"

"Or is it getting seen?" Geralt dives in again, Jaskier's throat is soft and warm and smells so perfect, and Jaskier tilts his head back immediately, giving him everything. "Were you two in the alley behind the inn? Did you want to get caught?"

"Darling-" Jaskier's overwhelmed, flushed, moving as much as he can to grind against Geralt in short little movements.

"Perhaps that's it." Geralt digs his fingers in, starts soft bruises on the outside of Jaskier's legs, where they won't impede his riding. "I should take you downstairs-"

" _Geralt_ -"

"Bend you over one of the tables down there-"

Jaskier moans.

"-let them all see, let you _show off_ -"

Jaskier's hands scrabble at his shoulders suddenly, his breathing much faster. Geralt can smell precome in the air. He hides his surprise - will this kind of talk be enough to get him off? - and pushes on.

"-is that what you need, Jaskier? Should I show them how sweetly you cry out when you take my cock-"

"Geralt - _oh_ my fu-" Jaskier seizes and gasps, gods, he's going to-

"-show them how much you can take, how you beg for more-"

" _Geralt_ -"

Geralt _bites_ at Jaskier's neck, enough to redden it, enough to stiffen Jaskier's body further, just a little more, he knows, he's sure- "Will that be enough? Or should I leave you there when I'm done? Let some others take their tur-"

Jaskier orgasms, breath choked and hands clawing at Geralt's shoulders as he arches against the wall. Geralt stays put, mouthing at the pulse point in his neck, letting the familiar salt smell wash over him, mingling with the heady lust. When Jaskier's heart slows a little, when he relaxes in Geralt's grip, he presses his lips to the spot under his ear, beginning to set him down.

"Bed," Jaskier corrects, and Geralt huffs out a laugh, moving them to the bed instead and dropping Jaskier there. The man's legs look like jelly as he crawls back, making room for Geralt.

"At least get your boots off."

Jaskier's chest rises and drops in a heaved breath, and he throws his arms over his head. "That scooting I did just then? That's all I've got. Have your way with me. You've earned it."

Geralt snorts.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier has commandeered the vast majority of the post-hunt cleanup work, now, and Geralt has been powerless to stop him.

"You don't need to do that." Geralt keeps his chin tipped down to his chest, watching from the bed as Jaskier takes his leather chest piece and sits by the tub, dunking the rough brush into the water.

"You'll do it in the morning?" Jaskier asks lightly, beginning to scrape away the biggest chunks of drowner viscera.

"Yes." His hand is still healing up _now,_ but by the time he wakes up it should be more than good enough to work the gore off.

"When it'll be all dried and congealed and take twice as long to get out?" Jaskier continues brushing. Geralt frowns, conflicted.

"You don't _have_ to, though."

Jaskier nods, like this is a silly conversation to have but he is patient about it nonetheless. "I don't," he agrees, and does not stop scrubbing.

**

It's more than that. When Geralt gets a bolt in his back, Jaskier won't let Geralt rush him as he binds the wound; a long and careful arc from the dip of his shoulder to the side of his ribs, then across the chest to keep it secure.

When Geralt hears the excess gauze get cut away, Jaskier doesn't give him the light tap to say he can get up. Instead he wraps the leftover gauze back up, quiet shuffling sounds, and then - Geralt feels the press of warm lips at the nape of his neck. Then a similar light kiss to the center of his back, and then to his side. Like a sacrament arranged around the wound.

Geralt feels... strange. Jaskier's touch has always been careful since Geralt began letting him help with his injuries. But this explicit tenderness, in this kind of moment. Geralt is still getting used to all the places in his life where Jaskier is determinedly putting his mark, his warmth, stubborn and increasingly unapologetic.

"Done," Jaskier says, and taps his good shoulder, almost daring him to say something. To call him out. Geralt rises from the chair, putting his arms out and then up to test the bandage. "Good?"

Geralt nods and grunts.

"You're welcome."

**

The wound is deep, and he can't sleep on it. Jaskier goes downstairs and arranges a new room with two beds, getting Geralt situated chest-down with unnecessarily fluffed pillows ("Hush, _let me_.") before going back to their original room and moving all their kit. Geralt shifts on his stomach, sliding an arm under the thinner pillow and looking across the room, wondering when he became someone who got fussed over.

"Last bag," Jaskier announces, and uses his heel to close the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

Geralt shrugs his good shoulder. "I'll make it."

"Not what I asked." Jaskier sets the bag on the table, then floats over and runs light fingertips over part of the bandage. "Haven't bled through it yet, at least."

"When did you become my nursemaid?"

"When I knew you wouldn't be able to tell me 'no' anymore." Jaskier gives him one last pat on his bicep before drifting over to the rickety chair, propping his feet up on the table and picking up his lute. "Nights I don't sleep with you are so strange now."

Geralt listens as the bard run through some scraps of tunes, the beginning of _Winter_ , an old ballad about sailors. After a while, he says, "You did easily a few weeks ago... but you were recovering from the potion."

"Yeah, that ordeal doesn't count." Jaskier strums aimlessly, looking out the window. When he goes quiet, Geralt senses something in the air. "I'm glad it happened, though."

Geralt hmms ambiguously and digs his cheek into the pillow. He's grateful for the revelations that came out of it, but he can still see Jaskier's pale face, can feel the frailty of his body in his arms. "You'd've sung that song eventually. And I'd've put two and two together."

Jaskier makes an ambiguous sound in return, which causes Geralt to raise his eyebrows.

"You... wouldn't have?"

Jaskier pretends to get very involved in the process of tuning one of the strings. "I was ready to be content getting _very_ well fucked in a... friends with benefits sort of situation, if that's what I had to settle for."

Geralt wrinkles his nose. "'Friends with benefits'," he echoes.

"The arrangement was quite popular back at university."

"Of _course_ it was."

"Well, you weren't exactly leading the way on a - on a traditional..."

"What does a traditional relationship _look_ like with two men?" Geralt tries to think back to any examples of public couples - mostly men so disgustingly rich and well-appointed that they were untouchable, and could get away with whatever they liked. "Was I supposed to be the... the archduke, and you the... stable boy? That I brought in to the castle walls to pamper and show off to the mortified court?"

Jaskier blinks. "I mean, it may make more sense the other way around, but either way, we should definitely try that in bed sometime."

Geralt snorts.

"Alright. Fine. But you do have a point, I don't know exactly what would have... gifts, flowers, something stupid like that." Jaskier shrugs one shoulder. "I suppose it was mostly that you didn't ever say anything. And I knew that was your way, but it left me wondering."

It's hard for Geralt to parse the difference. They'd been traveling companions, and Geralt had known he'd wanted Jaskier and worked to ignore it. Then they were finally in bed together. Saying how deep the affection runs, putting a specific word to it, seems to be something Jaskier felt was lacking until Geralt said it. Geralt liked hearing Jaskier say he loved him, but Jaskier already followed him into danger, tolerated his temper, and proved time and time again that he knew Geralt to the bone. That was proof of what the word was supposed to be, wasn't it? "Jaskier?"

"Sorry, I'm still thinking about the stable boy thing." Jaskier's eyes are raking over his body. "You have good ideas, you know."

"That is _not_ an idea." Pretending to be more possessive than he is is one thing. Pretending to be someone else is... no.

Jaskier makes a disappointed face but goes back to his lute, working his way through the bridge of _Elusive_ before finally setting it down. "Well, I suppose I'll survive, even if you're not up to playing dress-up yet."

" _Yet_ ," Geralt echoes, voice laden with suspicion.

"I won't buy anything yet," Jaskier says, clearly thinking he's being assuring. "No clothes, no props, I promise, I- don't make that face."

"If you want a stable boy so badly, you can go out back and find yourself one." Geralt turns his face toward the wall, ending the conversation, starting to get more comfortable as Jaskier sets the lute down and begins to undress. The quiet between them isn't tense, but Geralt begins to think anyway, about Jaskier holding his tongue, about what he thought their... relationship... might be. Geralt tries to imagine a younger Jaskier, pairing up casually with other students. Friends. What that would look like.

"Are you ready for me to snuff the candle?"

"Sure." Geralt shifts a little. "At university. How did those things end?"

Jaskier pauses. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Geralt reaches for the words. "Did you... keep more than one? Or call it off, sometimes, but stay friends with each other. How did it work."

"Oh. Hm." Jaskier seems to think a while. "If you were lucky, I suppose, you might have a couple going at the same time. Half of the point was to be able to flit around as you liked." There's the sound of the candle snuffer being picked up, and then the light goes out. The gentle smell of candle smoke. "If you stopped being friends for some reason, you almost certainly stopped fooling around together. If one of the people got stuck in a proper relationship, they would have to let go of all their other dalliances. And sometimes one person would tire of the other, and they'd go back to being friends."

All of this more or less makes sense. Geralt tries to hold these ideas up to himself and Jaskier, seeing what could fit. "One person would tire of the other," he says finally.

"Sometimes." Jaskier is sliding into bed now. There's a thin string of... something... in his voice.

"That's the one you were worried about."

Jaskier doesn't answer immediately. "You're a century old," he says after a while. He sounds mostly off-hand. "How am I supposed to know if I'll keep your interest?"

Geralt smiles to the wall. "Jaskier."

"Yes?"

"Go to sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Geralt's shoulder is mostly a dull burn. He sits up, stretching it up, forward, back, doing a few half-circles before deciding that it can function as normal outside of battle for today.

Jaskier is asleep in the other bed. Geralt feels oddly touched that Jaskier has fallen asleep on his stomach, with most of the blankets bunched underneath him. Perhaps he's gotten accustomed to the way they normally sleep as well.

"Are you awake?" Geralt asks quietly. Jaskier hums a confused note in his sleep but doesn't stir. Feeling unusually fond, Geralt gets up, pulling on some clothes so he can go down and buy some breakfast to bring up.

**

They eat seated on Jaskier's bed. The bard's hair is disheveled, and there's a faint line across his cheek indicating he slept with his face pressed to the textured hem of one of the blankets. When he finishes eating first, he sits behind Geralt, legs bracketing him and arms wrapped loosely around his middle. His nose is pressed into Geralt's good shoulder.

"Miss me last night?" Geralt smiles.

Jaskier presses his nose more forcefully into his shoulder, like an attempt to burrow in. "Finish your eggs."

Geralt looks down at his fork, his food, the long fingers intertwined over his stomach. He feels content. "I missed you too." He takes another bite. Pretends not to notice Jaskier's surprised stillness behind him, letting the words hang unprotected in the air. Fragile but safe.

**

The next town is only a few hours away by taking turns on Roach, and it goes blissfully smoothly. The noonwraith gets caught in the trap, Geralt kills it, and he even manages to get its head to the alderman before it completely turns to dust. (Fortunately, said alderman is an older gentleman who's familiar with this issue, and does not argue with the authenticity of the evidence.) The season is only days away from the peak of the harvest, so freeing those acres back has made him extremely popular.

Jaskier's presence helps, of course. The bard clearly didn't think he'd get much recognition until they reached Vizima, but the townsfolk recognize him, which always puts him in a fabulous mood - he plays a set over lunch, while Geralt is out hunting, and then changes his outfit and plays another at sundown, with an even bigger and more friendly crowd. Geralt listens and drinks and thinks back to about two decades ago, when Jaskier could barely hold a room's attention. Persistence and growing talent have certainly changed things.

After his set, Jaskier is complimented by several townsfolk, including a young woman who seems to want to keep chatting with him toward the back of the tavern. Tonight feels rare - the air is crisp and fine, Geralt's work is already done and paid for, and they have the night ahead of them. When Geralt notices Jaskier's eyes tracking over to him, he takes a moment to think. And then makes a subtle point of looking to the empty stool next to him, hooking it with his ankle and pulling it a bit closer to his own so that it's clearly reserved.

Geralt hasn't done this before, but he shouldn't be surprised that Jaskier understands. And listens. Still, when he sees the lute case come into his field of vision, and then turquoise cotton and satin, it's... pleasant.

"They liked you," Geralt says, pushing the second tankard over.

"Yes, they - no wine?"

"The barman named the options. You wouldn't have been happy with any of them."

"Hm." Jaskier wrinkles his nose a little at the thought of whatever Geralt heard and turned down, and knocks his boot gently against Geralt's in thanks as he takes a drink of the ale. "This is... _strong_."

Geralt shrugs, passively watching the townsfolk patrons and the rush of the tavern keeper, his wife, their gangly son. "Two hunts in two days. Plus your performances. We're doing well."

"I had a light dinner, I _do_ hope you're ready to carry me up the stairs after we're done here."

Geralt thinks back to the one innkeeper, a few months ago. How Geralt had tossed Jaskier over his shoulder. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Jaskier _giggles_.

**

Geralt doesn't have to carry Jaskier, but Jaskier is definitely weaving a bit. Geralt trails him two steps down, ready to intercept a stumble, and crowds Jaskier as soon as they're back in the safety of their room.

"I'm _fine,_ I-" Jaskier laughs as he realizes how close Geralt's getting. "This isn't about me being clumsy anymore, is it."

Geralt noses Jaskier's ear, his throat. "It was a nice excuse."

Jaskier shivers. Geralt can smell his interest, mingled with the smell of rich food, hops, his skin is so warm, tastes like - "Wait, your bandage. I... mm. I should check it."

Geralt makes an impatient noise. Everything feels soft at the edges, pleasant. The ale was good and Jaskier has just the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw, rough against his lips as he brushes upwards. Geralt's finding he adores it. "It's fine."

Jaskier's hands creep up between them, holding his face and pushing it away. When Geralt huffs, Jaskier laughs. "It's probably got dried blood to clean up underneath, let's get that off you before we're wrapped up to... together."

"How drunk do I have to get you to stop the coddling, bard?"

Jaskier beams and gives his cheek a gentle smack. "Shirt off. Everything off, actually, just get on the bed. I'll get a rag."

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier disengages, slipping by him to get to the damned wash basin. "I should just be bedding the local healer at this point."

"I'd like to see her swallow as much of your cock as I do." Jaskier's rustling sounds behind Geralt stop. "Actually, she's not bad looking, I really _would_ like to see that."

Geralt eases his shirt off, then his boots, the rest, laying himself down on the bed as he was told and peeking over to Jaskier. He's predictably distracted, gauze scissors and damp rag in hand but eyes wandering over various points of Geralt's body. "Insistent as hell and can't even remember what you were doing. So like you."

"Fuck you," Jaskier says fondly, and sets the tools on Geralt's lower back, taking his boots off before crawling up to straddle Geralt's thighs and begin to tug the bandages back.

"You just like being up there," Geralt accuses teasingly.

" _Fuck_ you," Jaskier laughs. His hands are a little less coordinated from the drink, but they're gentle as always as they peel back the layers of bandage, careful of the caked blood. "I'm doing... important things. Right. This _does_ look closed..."

"Told you it was fine."

"Nasty purple and green bruise in its place... so we'll snip this away..."

"Should you be using shears in your condition?"

"I'll use my short sword if you keep sassing."

Geralt hmms. He feels the dried patch peeled back the rest of the way, the apologetic little sound that Jaskier makes in spite of their fake fight. When Jaskier tugs the rest of the binding away and starts touching the damp rag to his skin, Geralt does hiss a little.

"Sorry."

Geralt sets his jaw. "It's fine. ...I do feel the bruising now."

Jaskier barely lets the rag touch Geralt's skin, using the drips of water and gentle nudges of the cloth to clean the crusted blood off of him. When he's done, he tosses it to the floor in the corner, hands coming to the un-bruised part of Geralt's shoulders and scratching lightly.

It feels so pleasant against Geralt's scars, and as always, Jaskier either doesn't care about the scars or is doing this specifically because of them. When Jaskier goes a little lighter, it feels almost ticklish, and Geralt makes a disapproving sound. When Jaskier recalibrates and scratches a little more firmly down the sides of his ribs, Geralt huffs out a contented sigh.

"You're so gorgeous," Jaskier tells him quietly. It's more serious than before.

"You seem to think so," Geralt replies after some time. When Jaskier drags his nails down to Geralt's hips, his lower back, then back up to his shoulders, where more scars have accumulated, Geralt can't help himself. "This is better than the massage."

Jaskier giggles.

"What?"

"I was just thinking.... when farmers set up brooms sideways on a fence, for cows to brush themselves on." His hands move up to Geralt's biceps now, seeking out more patches of scars. "Do you think we could fit one on Roach? For you?"

"Fuck you," Geralt says with no heat whatsoever.


	4. Chapter 4

"You _do_ fuck me," Jaskier quips. "Often." A beat. "Ooh."

Something has caught Jaskier's attention. Geralt notices that he's slowed the meandering paths of his nails, bringing them to a stop at his waist. Geralt tries to imagine what's holding up the affectionate scratches. He has an idea that makes him roll his eyes.

"Is it really so distracting?"

Jaskier's hands immediately come down, cupping the swell of his ass. "Yes," the bard says, unapologetic. "I'm a man of many interests and many affections. One of them is... well, I'm holding it."

Geralt makes a 'tolerating it' sound. And tries not to think about the last time Jaskier was on top of him like this, and... "Well, at least you've forgotten to be a nursemaid."

Jaskier scoots back a little on the bed, and the arousal in the air is - maybe Geralt's just imagining it. "Um, Geralt," Jaskier says, and he sounds like he's trying his best as a drunk man to make a sober argument, "would you, um, did you like it before, when I-"

"Hmm?" _Don't make me say it._

Jaskier lets go of him and leans down - falls, maybe - propping his elbows up on either side of Geralt's ribs so he can nuzzle Geralt's neck. His breath is hot on his skin and smells like drink. "I really wanna...um..." Geralt can feel Jaskier's erection, still trapped behind fabric, pressing against the back of his thigh. "Can I use my mouth on you again?" He can feel himself flush.

"Sure," Geralt rumbles after a moment, and impresses himself with how off-hand it sounds. He'll do this for Jaskier. Jaskier likes doing it for him. And if Geralt gets a little loud like last time - the ale was strong, and Jaskier's unlikely to needle him about it anyway.

"Ffffuck yes," Jaskier hisses, and presses excited little kisses to the nape of Geralt's neck, down his spine, fingernails scratching double time down his ribs. Geralt can't help but laugh at the other man's enthusiasm. "I'm gonna make you feel so _good_ ," Jaskier explains, lips brushing against his tailbone now, tongue flicking out and lapping at the sweat there. Geralt shudders. Something about the way Jaskier says that, his reverence - "I _love_ making you feel good, I want to feel you come from my tongue, I-" He's babbling, and he realizes it now, laughing at himself. "Or something _else,_ I... mm. Shouldn't. Say."

Geralt's muzzily reconstructing that abandoned sentence when he feels his legs be spread apart, feels himself be spread open by gentle hands, and then Jaskier's mouth is on him, damp and so hot, lips brushing over his entrance, his tongue, _fuck_ , it's exactly as good as Geralt remembered, better drunk, it's easier to bring himself up on his knees without overthinking it, to feel Jaskier get in closer and appreciate the little curl of his tongue, tracing the rim, pressing. Geralt's cock his already heavy between his legs. When Jaskier strokes Geralt's entrance with a fingertip, two, spreading the saliva across it and sensitizing everything further, Geralt pulls his forearm in front of his mouth so he can press his teeth against it.

"I couldn't stop thinking about last time." Jaskier presses a kiss to his _hole_ , so _earnest -_ "And all the other things I wanted to do for you, sweet Melitele, if - sorry, I can't shut u-"

"You can talk." Geralt knows he sounds choked. Fuck. It's only just started and he's losing his self-control.

Jaskier pauses. "Oh." His fingertips rub back and forth, massaging almost absently as he seems to think about this. Then he dives back in, tongue - _finally_ \- fucking in and out of him, and it's so warm and soft and sweet, it _almost_ feels like it fills him, and he can feel his cock twitching untouched. Geralt can feel his heart beating in his chest, Jaskier's warm hands on his arse, his shins brushing against his own. Their arousal is so thick in the room. Jaskier's tongue isn't enough, it's barely better than a tease. Geralt isn't going to be satisfied by this, he knows it more with each passing second, driven further but not finding release.

"Do..." Geralt feels a self-conscious flush already running down his chest, up his face, and it's so _unfamiliar_ feeling like this, but he wants this, wants Jaskier. Trusts him. "Do what you like."

Jaskier _moans_ against him, mouth slick and messy as it pulls away, leaving Geralt feeling empty. Jaskier presses kisses over his arse, back up to his tailbone, his fingertips stroking eagerly around him, not quite entering, _please_ , and then the first firm press and Geralt knows, he _knows_ he's in trouble. "So fucking beautiful," Jaskier says against his skin, and Geralt moans as he's finally penetrated, muffles it into his arm and holds still.

Jaskier's finger is warm, gentle, but it's so much more _unyielding_ than his tongue had been, firm and breaching him open further, a new and strange feeling within Geralt's body. It feels bigger than Geralt would have expected, just stroking in and out the barest amount, and Geralt can smell his own precome already.

"I promise I'll be - I'll make sure it's good, I want, gods, Geralt, I want so much-" His finger curls a little, presses deeper, and the slight discomfort and stretch is gone. These untouched parts of him are tight and clinging to Jaskier's movements, but the touches are just gentle enough, coaxing, to get friction without any pain, just more desire. How will it feel when Jaskier's reaching as deeply as he can? Geralt feels some strange sort of revelation on the horizon of his mind just before Jaskier slowly withdraws, withdraws further, gone. Geralt feels the loss so keenly as suddenly _all_ of Jaskier is gone, his warm legs between his, his mouth on his back, all the touches -

"Jaskier," Geralt rasps, demanding an answer for this.

" _Oil_ ," Jaskier gasps apologetically, and Geralt looks over, sees Jaskier pawing hastily through his pack. He looks flushed and his trousers are completely tented, with a damp spot. "I - I need to do this right-"

"Get your clothes off, you'll ruin them."

Jaskier makes an impatient noise and finds the bottle first, working his laces open and finally stripping down before coming back. Geralt feels more secure now that he's not just alone on the bed in this position, now that Jaskier is behind him again, might _do_ something. To distract him from how he must look. Although Jaskier's stare certainly tells Geralt how he feels about it.

"Enough," Geralt entreats.

"Sorry. Sorry." Jaskier sets the bottle down by Geralt's leg, then picks it right back up again to open and begin tipping onto his fingers. Geralt looks forward again, back down into his arm, still trying to keep some of his reactions shielded. The oil is cool on his thighs, and Jaskier begins to work it upward with his thumbs, smoothing it inward, to his entrance, finally stroking over it with calloused thumbs and making Geralt's body sing again. He still feels... open, as if his body is still persuaded to let Jaskier in, and is even impatient for it. And when Jaskier presses in again, just a fingertip, just a little further than before, Geralt realizes that this pace might actually kill him. The oil makes every touch easier, just maddening pressure, good but not enough.

Jaskier begins stroking his entrance, from outside and from within, _spoiling_ it, almost, apparently unaware that the rest of Geralt is starving for more than this. Geralt tries to lean back a little and pass it off as shifting his weight, and it almost works, but Jaskier makes a surprised noise and compensates, moving back a touch, and Geralt wonders if he's going to be forced to _say_ more, it's so maddening, Jaskier's arousal is so thick in the air and Geralt's cock feels like it could pound nails, he just needs - gods, if he could get Jaskier to fuck him -

"Geralt? What's wrong?"

Geralt realizes he must have made some kind of distressed sound. Jaskier's hand has stilled, one finger half inside him. "You don't need to be gentle," he says finally, and that, that sounds neutral enough, maybe he can - "You aren't going to _hurt_ me."

Jaskier makes a soft, pained sound - still muddled somewhat by the ale, but so heartfelt, as his finger curls and his free hand strokes along Geralt's flank. "But I want it to be _good_ ," he mumbles. "Not just 'not hurt', I want you to, to _like_ it, to feel-"

"I..." Geralt reaches for the next word. It's not there. His throat is knotted up, his face and chest are red with shame, he's bent over and trying to ask for... he can't. He can't.

Jaskier is still again, and then - miraculously, he's pressing deeper until it's filling him up; Geralt can feel Jaskier's knuckles press up against him, and then he's fucking him gently with it, slow, faster, and Jaskier's mouth is on his back again. "Yes, alright."

Geralt pants and pushes his knees farther apart, basking in this new feeling, the perfect slick friction inside him as Jaskier's breath gusts against his skin. Geralt feels so _tended_ to, Jaskier's mouth pressing reassuring little kisses to the curve of his waist while he pulls almost out, introducing a second finger. Geralt just breathes, saying nothing; Jaskier understands, pressing in. The stretch is back, that almost-hurt, and Geralt lets out a soft gust of air, a sound for Jaskier to hear with no discomfort laced in it, and almost instantly Jaskier returns to fucking in and out in quick little bursts.

Geralt keens. _This_ is what his body has been wanting, this friction and movement and brushing against the deepest parts of him. He can hear Jaskier panting behind him, the slick sounds of his hand on his cock-

" _Jaskier._ "

"I'm getting - hah - I'm getting slicked up, don't think I'm not dying to get inside you, because I _am_ , you have _no_ idea-" Jaskier's hand stutters but doesn't stop fucking him. "Geralt, I swear to all the gods, you're going to kill me. How can you already be so ready?"

"You've teasing for... half an hour."

"It has _not_ been -" Jaskier huffs out a breath as he begins to pull his fingers out. "-fuck. I know you don't want to talk, but... I'm not going to be able to shut up."

Geralt groans against his forearm, tilting his hips up. His cock twitches as Jaskier completely withdraws, as he hears Jaskier kneeing closer. When they'd done this last time, he'd felt the tempting brush of Jaskier's cock head against his entrance as Jaskier had come. Now Jaskier's pressing against him more firmly, and it's so much more, it's so _overwhelming_. Geralt's seen Jaskier's hard cock dozens of times now, had it in his mouth almost as many, but he feels _enormous,_ like maybe he can't fit.

Jaskier's hands stroke Geralt's hips as he pushes forward a little, but it's not enough to breach Geralt's entrance. Even with the oil, Geralt can tell it's going to hurt a little.

And he couldn't care less. He pushes _back_ , ripping a low groan out of Jaskier.

" _Darling_ ," Jaskier admonishes, but he sounds like he's losing in a battle to keep this gentle. Geralt's stretched so wide already, the blunt head of Jaskier's cock is so rigid against him, and he can't _imagine_ what he looks like when he pushes his legs apart a little further, tries to make himself more obviously ready, but Jaskier's hands on him twitch and then he's thrusting in, _stretching_ , filling Geralt so completely, it feels like his cock is _enormous_ , touching _everything_ within him and straining for more room still. "Fuck, Geralt, you're so _tight_ , how are you - gods you f-feel-" Jaskier's hips finally press flush against Geralt's ass and Geralt realizes he is gasping loudly, forehead pressed against the sheets as Jaskier's hands skim over his back, nails dragging, and he can't tell if the constant tremble between them is him or Jaskier or both. "-so bloody warm, _fuck_ you feel incredible, please say, p, oh, fuck..."

Jaskier's cock shifts in him a little as Jaskier leans forward, nose and lips brushing against the nape of his neck. The tenderness of this is so - so _unnecessary_ , and something about it undoes Geralt further. "Keep going," Geralt gasps, and when Jaskier pulls out just an inch or so he can thrust back in, Geralt can't help it, he _keens_. Jaskier's chest is warm against his back, their sweat mingling as Jaskier moves above him, and Geralt feels pinned down somehow, unable to move as he takes one slow thrust after the other, the slick oil on Jaskier's cock dripping on his inner thighs. Geralt wants that intensity and speed from when Jaskier was fingering him, but he also feels like he can't _breathe_ yet. The soft sounds Jaskier's making between his shoulder blades are labored and quiet and - and _important_ , Geralt's _never_ heard him sound quite like this, and when Jaskier's hands come back to his waist and stroke the skin there, it's like a message. _This is so much but I won't let myself hurt you._

"Love you," Jaskier murmurs feverishly. "Even if you never le - let me do this, I'd still love you, I can't believe -" Jaskier pulls out a little further, almost out completely, and there's a breath of hesitation and then he slides back in, and it's _good_ , it's better than good, Geralt huffs and repositions his elbows on the bed so he can take the next thrust better, so he can move back against it. Jaskier's rhythm is predictable now, and when Geralt moves himself back to meet Jaskier's thrust, Jaskier _whines_ and Geralt can feel himself dripping more precome against the sheets. " _Geralt_."

"Harder."

" _No_. Gods - we've just barely started, and I'm going to lose it if-"

"I _want_ -" Geralt bites this out before he knows what the next word is, if he can say it, and when Jaskier straightens and grabs his shoulder and pushes in more forcefully, _that_ , _that_ is what he knew he needed. Geralt groans and pushes back, relieved as he feels Jaskier's movements become quicker, nails digging into skin as he begins to finally fuck him in earnest, to take what he wants. It's perfect.

Geralt feels something in him twist and break and he stops needing to push back, to stay so rigid, he can melt against the bed and Jaskier just comes after him, gripping him tightly, fucking into him and filling him up so perfectly, over and over again, a sweet drag and push as Jaskier gasps and thrusts. Geralt's cock is dragging against the bedclothes now, a teasing stimulation that's jostled with every thrust. He tilts his head to the side, pushing his hair away from his face so he can look back at Jaskier, who -

\- gods -

Jaskier looks _incredible_ , hair plastered to his forehead from sweat, a sheen on his shoulders and arms glinting in the light as he moves, as he keeps his teeth pressed tightly against his lower lip, concentrating so fully on keeping the pace steady, eyes alternating from being shut tight to drinking in the sight of his cock in Geralt's ass.

When Jaskier catches Geralt's eye, his already huge pupils dilate further. " _Geralt_ ," he says again, but it's a warning this time, and when Geralt responds with another huff Jaskier lets go of his shoulder, fingers winding into his hair instead and _pulling_ as he fucks into him, one sharp thrust after the next, until Geralt is moaning,

"Don't stop, don't fucking stop,"

"I'm going to-"

Geralt comes first, pulsing onto his own stomach, the bedclothes, his chest, shaking with it as his legs give out from underneath him. Jaskier's right hand keeps its grip in his hair and uses the other to haul him back up, faster and out of rhythm and gasping desperately for air as he follows after.

" _Fuck_ ," Jaskier whines, and fucks through his orgasm, filling Geralt with seed, he can feel it within him, can feel it leaking out and dripping down his thighs with the oil. Geralt is sure Jaskier is going to collapse any moment, but he seems hellbent on giving Geralt as much as he possibly can, pushing in deeply, a different angle now that Geralt's hips are barely off the bed, and he brushes against something within Geralt that makes his exhausted cock twitch and almost fill again-

"Ja- Jaskier-"

"Oh, _now_ I find it," Jaskier groans, and the sound melts into a laugh as he moves again, trying to find the spot again, a few more slow thrusts, finally giving up and laying himself down very carefully on Geralt's back.

Neither speaks for a while. Jaskier sounds absolutely exhausted, and while Geralt doesn't feel he's done much to be _physically_ exhausted, but he certainly feels... _something_ , worn out, _sated_ , in a way that keeps him from wanting to get out of the warm sticky mess of his own come.

"I wanted to find it earlier," Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder blade. "M'sorry."

Geralt is unconcerned. "Not exactly a map for those things."

Jaskier's short laugh is warm against his skin. "I just..." He pauses. "I'm very glad you liked it. But I think I also need you to _tell me_ you liked it."

Geralt makes a vaguely reluctant sound.

Jaskier noses his back. "Not to torture you, to reassure me." His breathing's more steady now, although his heart is still coming down from its peak.

That's more than fair enough. Geralt ruminates as he feels Jaskier's thumb brush absently against his scalp, little gentle patterns. "You were. Good." he says finally. "We can do that again, if you'd like." Suddenly he wants the same reassurance from Jaskier, in droves. Silly.

" _Whenever_ you - yes, yes, absolutely." Jaskier begins to shift, but it's only to get his free hand up, hooked underneath Geralt's bicep and wrapped around it in a brief squeeze. "And don't think for one second you're not fucking _me_ anymore."

Geralt suddenly reevaluates the size of his own cock and the size of Jaskier's. "How the fuck do you _fit_ me in you?"

Jaskier laughs again, more himself this time. "Practice," he singsongs, actually a bit smug. "You're..." He pushes himself up a little, and Geralt realizes too late that Jaskier is very slowly, very carefully pulling out of him. Damn. He feels oddly empty in a way he didn't predict. "...not exactly for beginners, I would say."

"Hmm." Geralt rolls onto his side, taking Jaskier by the hip and encouraging him to lay down the same way. Jaskier's hair is still sticking to his forehead, and he smiles when Geralt begins pushing it away. There's some residual feeling of... _shyness_ , almost, after being taken by someone, but something about Jaskier's contentedness and genuine smile is a little infectious. "You seem like plenty."

"You're welcome to compliment my cock _whenever_ you feel it appropriate," Jaskier says with mock solemnity.

"Don't you get enough of that from your married women?"

"Well, yes, obviously, but you should just take that as praise to how much I appreciate _your_ opinion."

"Mmm." Geralt wonders if he can convince Jaskier to get the topmost blanket out from underneath them, and throw it on the floor, so he doesn't have to get up.

"Also, just putting it out there, the more you can... say to me... the more I can give you, you know, what it is you want." Jaskier cuddles closer, tucking his head under Geralt's chin.

"Remember when _I_ first fucked _you_ , and you fell straight asleep afterward?"

"I can tell that's a hint and I am not taking it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edit: 3/11/2020:
> 
> [All! Hail! Cait!](https://twitter.com/CaiterBates/status/1237573291688116227)]


	5. Chapter 5

They're at a sun-drenched winery. The alderman warned them that the noonwraith had already taken everyone in the family, but the quiet after Geralt's hunt is actually... pleasant. The wind rustles the rows upon rows of almost-ripe grapes. Geralt is putting the remains in one of Roach's saddle bags when he sees Jaskier wandering through the rows.

"Looking for something?" he calls.

"No." Jaskier sounds... content. Like he wants to take his time here. The smell of the gently toiled earth, the ripening grapes, are extremely pleasant to Geralt. Maybe humans can smell most of this too. He watches Jaskier for a while, surprised when he turns to a particular cluster and begins to pinch things away, tidying.

Geralt trails over and keeps a little of a distance. Gives Jaskier some room. "You look like you're ready to take over the business."

Jaskier smiles but doesn't look up. "My grandmother and uncle ran a place like this." Geralt feels his eyes widen at this. "I mean, much bigger, more workers, but -" He wraps a hand around the wooden fencing, jiggling it a little. "-the fundamentals are all the same."

Geralt doesn't remember the last time he heard such a specific detail about Jaskier's background. Sometimes Jaskier will dislike some hot bag of air and say he reminds him of one of his father's colleagues. Or that he's been familiar with this or that etiquette since he was a boy, so can he please teach Geralt so he doesn't make a scene the next time they go to a feast.

"I liked it." Jaskier's smile is a little weaker. "I'd go visit them... every summer, for a few years straight. When I was younger."

Geralt's not sure the right way to respond to this. It seems like a time when there's definitely _wrong_ things to say. He should try, though. "You don't often have good things. To share."

Jaskier makes a face as if it say _Isn't that the truth_. "My grandmother was good," he says. "She.... she was. Good." He seems to have lost some inertia. "My uncle was. Alright." He lets go of the fencing, looks up to the sun, to the abandoned farming equipment leaned up against the side of the main house. 

"Why'd you stop coming?"

"For the summers?" When Geralt nods, Jaskier says: "My father decided they were a bad influence." And that was enough, apparently. Story over. Geralt looks over the rows of little black and red jewels, breathing them in, and looks to Jaskier again. His hands are half-curled, apprehensive. Geralt thinks he wants to start fixing things here, that he knows how to. This land hasn't had more than corpses removed from it in the last week and a half, and Jaskier seems to be able to see signs of neglect that Geralt can't.

Geralt looks to Roach, who's standing patiently by the elaborately painted sign at the side of the road. Then to the equipment, the little well. "We can put Roach in the shade, if you'd like."

Jaskier frowns at him. "What?"

Geralt shrugs. "Someone in town will buy this place, or... inherit it... I don't know, maybe some extended family's still in the village. But right now it's nobody's. If you want to. Walk around, or. Tidy up."

Jaskier looks down, a self-conscious red on his cheeks. "It's _stupid_ ," he says around a hard smile.

Geralt shrugs. "You've seen me cringe when people ride their horses wrong. Or don't know how to maintain their armor."

"Jaskier, Wine Master." It's said sarcastically, but Jaskier's allowing himself to reach out again, pinching away a small cluster of underformed fruit. "Maybe when-" He stops himself, and continues his examination and removal pattern for a few stakes. After a while Geralt moves closer, watching him and trying to work out what's meant to go and what's meant to stay.

"Maybe when," Geralt echoes calmly.

Jaskier just shakes his head, something he irritatingly picked up from Geralt a few years back. _Nope, not talking about it_. "This is good, you'll like this." He plucks a perfectly round little ruby off the vine and holds it out between two fingers. Geralt takes it, popping it in his mouth. Tart, luscious.

"Hm," Geralt confirms. Jaskier's smile eases a little and he moves on to the next one.

For a few minutes, that's just how it goes between them. Jaskier pinches away this and that, and Geralt watches, and every so often Jaskier will pick out an absolutely perfect one and hold it out for Geralt to take.

"You should have one too," Geralt says after the third one.

"I like _wine_ ," Jaskier laughs.

Geralt sidles closer, turning Jaskier by the hips and pressing their mouths together. When Jaskier's lips part the barest bit, Geralt licks his way inside, sharing the taste. Jaskier huffs a laugh in the shared air between them.

"Jaskier, Wine Master." Geralt smiles, feeling the sun warm his face, feeling Jaskier's toned but soft hips under his hands. "I think you're supposed to taste the grapes sometimes, to make sure they're right."

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," Jaskier jokes. He lets the tip of his nose brush Geralt's before he pulls away, fussing with the next row. "Do you ever- this is silly."

"Do I ever." Geralt wonders if this is about Jaskier's family. He's old enough that his parents have probably passed, but apparently that's no loss. Does Jaskier have relatives his own age he'd want to visit? A cousin? Siblings? Geralt has sometimes imagined Jaskier had sisters.

"Do you ever." Jaskier pops a grape into his mouth, maybe more for the silence than the flavor. His lips are quirked in the way that means he can't quite get something out. "Do you still think you'll just fight forever?"

Geralt blinks. Yes, he almost says, because what else would he do, and he certainly hasn't given it thought. He remembers Yen asking if he ever _regretted_ becoming a Witcher, and this question... isn't that, but it still feels. Misplaced. "I don't know what else I would do," he says instead.

Jaskier nods. He doesn't seem surprised by this. He turns back to the vine, grabbing another grape, clearly buying another bit of time - Geralt makes a point of jostling next to him, picking out his best guess at a good one too so he can have one as well. The joke only works a little.

"I think you think about those things more than me," Geralt adds. "Humans, especially ones that grow up with money," the 'no offense' is built in after this many years of knowing each other, "I think you're told to keep thinking about what you want to 'do', what you want to 'be'..."

"...and that stage wasn't given to you," Jaskier finishes, nodding. He pushes a grape around his mouth for a few seconds.

"Are these good?"

"The soil here is shite," Jaskier mumbles absentmindedly. "It's as good as it can be, they were doing their best."

"You could do this," Geralt observes. "People like you, they'd work for you. You can sell things. You're persuasive." And whatever the details of that farming equipment is, there's no way Jaskier doesn't know it or can't learn it.

Jaskier doesn't say anything. Geralt thinks, and realizes the problem - where does Geralt fit in this picture? "I'd-" _visit you_ , he thinks. Is that how it would go? Geralt dropping by every year or so, maybe with more white phoenix tea, drinking whatever Jaskier set aside just for them, brief summers of... something in Geralt's stomach twists. He'd go off wine. Smells like this would make him...

"We don't have to talk about it," Jaskier says, and begins to turn toward Roach. Geralt reaches out and touches his arm before thinking about what he's going to say. "We don't," Jaskier says again. Geralt hears something like hurt in his voice and he can't tolerate it.

"It's silly," Jaskier says again, a little tightly. "And I - I _like_ us together like this. I just... I suppose I also know it can't last forever, and I... sometimes, I-"

"Think about... how else we could be together." Geralt reaches down and takes his hand, strokes his thumb into Jaskier's palm. "We'd be someplace like this? Together?"

Jaskier's chin is tucked to his chest. "It always feels very... very _big_ , asking you for things like this." He's quiet. "It's not just asking for fifty years or whatever, it's asking for. Maybe a long time. Maybe much longer. Between your blood and my tea... I don't know."

If Geralt were to stop fighting. If he were to survive aging that far, if he were to become so old he was weaker, slow to the point of knowing it could kill him. Why wouldn't he do something like this? With Jaskier? He used to think he would never reach eighty, and that was decades ago. He also used to think he'd be alone his entire life, and that hasn't been true either. Fate has slapped him across the face every time he's made a prediction.

Fate. "I may have a few things to tie up, before then." Geralt strokes his thumb up to Jaskier's wrist, relieved when this gets some kind of reaction, a slight turn towards him. Jaskier's eyes aren't wet, but they're close. He looks surprised, almost brave enough to be hopeful. "I think I'd finally have to go back to Cintra, at least..."

Jaskier's face scrunches into an almost-repressed giggle, laden with nervous energy. "To... get your surprise?"

"Don't call our child a 'surprise'," Geralt pretends to admonish, and is delighted when the joke makes Jaskier bend forward with laughter.

"Our -" Jaskier holds his stomach. "Geralt, don't say that, don't call it that."

"Her," Geralt corrects. "I went to check on it once, Mousesack said it's a girl."

"You've been _solidly_ against putting that kid in your life-"

"And if my life is grapes?" Geralt gestures around him. "I'll be clearing noonwraiths on occasion, perhaps, but it'll be the best protected land for a week's journey in any direction, I like to think."

Jaskier straightens, looking at him. "...you mean it."

Geralt shrugs. "I have _no idea_ what I'm going to do with a child." He looks around the wooden fencing. "Put her to work, maybe, you can teach her how to do the ledgers... but honestly, who knows. Maybe she'll be better off at one of those expensive schools."

" _Not_ a so-"

"No, nothing like where Yennefer went, I mean a proper school."

Jaskier nods. "No sorcery schools," he reinforces firmly. "Yen can teach her, but - actually, no, Yen absolutely shouldn't be anywhere near her, maybe Triss, though. Non-Yen sorceresses can teach her magic. No schools."

Geralt looks down, laughs.

"What?"

"Listen to us," Geralt says.

Jaskier's face is red when Geralt tilts his head back up. "You started it," he says finally, shifting on his feet. He's still smiling, just a touch. Fingers reaching up and winding around Geralt's hand now.

Geralt closes the space between them, brushing his cheek against Jaskier's. Taking his time to find the next words. "I've got to sort out my debts," he says finally, "and I suppose you need to find a property with better soil."

"And - we'll wait," Jaskier adds, clearly trying to make the idea more palatable to Geralt. "Until you feel less. Young? Fighty? Whatever the Witcher equivalent of middle-aged is, you tell me when you get there."  
  
Geralt laughs. "I'll have a gut, I suppose."

Jaskier raps gently over the armor covering Geralt's stomach. "Doubt that."

Geralt swats at him. "Get me more grapes."

"Lush."

"Hypocrite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out on [tumblr](https://fieldbears.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Moss on River Stones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408253) by [greedy_dancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer)




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